


Autobiography

by orphan_account



Series: Mortal on the Inside [1]
Category: Tumblr - Fandom
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:39:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2257872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An autobiography from none other than a long-lived fool; who refuses to warn his editor about the content in a chapter, but then insists that he will only add to it and never take anything out that he's already written up and handed in for the chapter. Please enjoy this story about the life of the long-living butt-head from his perspective! Not everyday you get to see the world from way down there after all, so you might as well take the chance to!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions

Please just bear with me: 

Last week I finally sat down with a good friend of mine and watched the _Twilight Saga_ films, and to be completely honest they weren’t as horrible as I’d imagined. It was actually like watching a movie about the ancient Egyptians where every actor was paper white, physically fit, and ready for an explosion-based battle against aliens followed by an orgy. Never in my life have I been so upset about proper representation in film, and I have beared witness to _every_ Vampire movie since the birth of motion pictures!

As you can imagine I have now abandoned all hope that anyone will ever die of fright at the sight of me…

It wasn’t bad enough that a bunch of hunters decided to get together and make a little organization of sorts three hundred years ago, _oh No,_ now even the general populace believes that Vampires are _Sparkle-Loving Fucks_ that can **get a tan**. I mean really! Really!

You want to know _why_ I’m so fucking pale? It’s because I haven’t exposed my skin to the sun since I was a young lad being fed pigs blood in the cellar of some rich fuck with a supernatural fetish! That’s right, I wasn’t born a vampire, I was made into one by some kidnapper that wanted to raise an undead child with a sudden taste for blood. That was how I spent my first immortal century back in the dark middle ages folks, and let me tell you I did not fight my way out of that manor to find myself being misrepresented a good thousand years later.

Anyhow, I should probably mention that this is going to be my autobiography or whatever. I thought of writing one a few years ago but I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to put all that _time_ into it. Recently though that _good friend_ I mentioned earlier told me I didn’t have to go into a lot of detail on most of it since everyone will consider it a fantasy novel anyways. _I realized he’s right!_ If my life does get published its going to be taken to heart as a fantasy tale written by a human being with a great imagination and a good patience for historical research.

 He even explain to me that I didn’t have to be historically accurate either, considering that while I have a photographic memory I didn’t ever actually pay that much attention to what was happening in the world around me until just a few hundred years ago. By a few hundred year I mean that I actually started caring about what was going on around the seventeen or eighteen hundreds _(1700~1800’s)_. I’ll probably skim over everything before then, just so you can have a sense of who I was and major events shaped me as a person up until that point in time.

 By the way, keep in mind that _little organization_ I mention up in  paragraph three, those fuckers are a constant pain in my ass and have only gotten worse with the years. They’re going to get their own explanation later, a whole thing about how they came to be as an organization and what they do and blah, blah, blah. This story is about my life though, so those bastards are just side characters in this great story of mine.

 That _good friend_ of mine will get his own shit explained later too, since he’s a recent thing in my life and he’ll be editing through all my shit. I’d prefer not to get into detail about the man who’ll be doing _all the work_ of separating this into chapters, making sure I stay with the flow of time once I start it, checking my grammar, checking my spelling, and basically editing through all this until later; just in case he _doesn’t actually like_ what I write down. He told me to just write though, on a whim, and that he’ take care of all that technical stuff. Jerk claims that I should just keep the writing flowing and all that technically inspirational shit.

According to him I tell all these stories great when I tell them on a whim and shit, so he wants me to write like I’m talking. I guess in all honesty I’m finally writing this because he asked me to. That little shit can be convincing when he wants something, and he wanted me to write the autobiography I never thought I’d have time to get around to writing. He said he might write his own chapters in when I get to the recent parts that he’s apart of. Give his own perspective about what went on and all; I think that’s really cool of him.

Now, a few things you should know before getting into this “fantasy novel autobiography” of mine:

  1. I’m telling all these stories _with_ the knowledge of how they end.

  2. Everything I write get’s edited by that little shit I mentioned above.

  3. That little organization probably won’t get mentioned for a while, but the people that started it were fucking with me _individually_ before they all decided to _get together_ and fuck with me.

  4. I am a vampire.

  5. **I do _not_ sparkle when I walk into the sunlight,** instead I basically start burning to death and lighting on fire by myself _without_ trying to.

  6. I don’t _actually know_ what will happen to me if I stay in the sun longer than a minute  tops, but I have seen other vampires get stuck in the sun and I do **not** want to know if I will also burst into flame and burn to death as they did.

  7. If you are a young person _in America_ that knows nothing about sex outside of what they learned in their “sexual education” class, go and have the sex talk with some feminist brits so I don’t have to worry about you getting rape, sex, foreplay, fetishes, consent, safe sex, and misogynistic crap all jumbled up and confused with one another when I talk about any of them.

  8. I am a feminist.

  9. Yes, men can be feminists, calm the fuck down and keep reading.

  10. As you can tell by now, that _good friend_ of mine that’s editing this is either _censoring all my curse words_ or letting them get printed, so get used to the fact that a curse _if_ he isn’t censoring me.  _(Editors Note: I’m not.)_




I think that’s everything you should know going in, so now that the introduction he told me to write is done I’m going to go get some Starbucks and cuddle with a stuffed elephant on the couch, and I’m sure I’ll get writing the rest of my life down a bit after I’m done snuggling the elephant in the room. _(Editor’s Note: He isn’t supposed to talk about the elephant in the room.)_

 

Alright, I added this last part after I saw that _good friend_ of mine put an editor’s note in, and I did not know he was going to do stuff like that. _(Editors Note: He thought I was joking when I said I would.)_ I guess we can expect him to put his little comments in, so I am from now on going to refer to him as the ominous thing that talks to me, the narrator, throughout my narrations. _Unless_ of course he get’s the _message_ now, and will _refrain from putting_ his little _side-notes_ in and shit. _(Editor’s Note: Fine assbutt, this will be the last editors note until further notice.)_


	2. The Dark Middle Ages

As the title suggests, my story begins a long time ago, but not in a galaxy so far, far away. It starts in a galaxy human scientists deemed “The Milky Way”, and along with the candy that term for this fine galaxy caught on. Well, it caught on after people accepted that we look like milk poured into some black water with sugar speckled in it al all.

That’s all besides the point though, for you see vampires became a little known rumor during the dark ages, when it was easy for them to kill and hide in the shadows at night because only easily blown out fire lit their victims ways. Now I don’t know when the very first vampire happened or who that might have been, but I know that vampires were like that rare bird no one believed actually existed. Especially back when there wasn’t some big story about “Dracula” or anything like that going around.

You need to understand though, I’m not saying that the general population knew about vampires or anything like that, just that there were rumors about what went bump in the night and all. Some people knew that vampires were actually a reality, and of course the people who knew things always want to do one of two things: Know more about the things they knew of the little known world, or own the things they knew of the little known world. The greedy wanted the best of both those worlds, because those with knowledge had power, and those with proof had the belief of others. This is where I come in:

I was born mid-June of the year 974 A.D., and all I know about that is that I was born to French peasants who probably died of starvation. Around the time I was three I was stolen from my family and given to a wealthy jerk by the name of Master. I wasn’t brought up to call him anything else. Occasionally I would call him Master Alkaline, and I never actually learned what his full name was.(Editors Note: Way back then I don’t think “Alkaline” was a scientific term, but just some made up word that was apart of someones name.)

My earliest memories of life take place around this time, and the whole photographic memory thing started during the time it took me to fully turn into a vampire. I don’t actually know how long it took, but it was the third most agonizing pain I’ve ever been in.

As I first opened my eyes the little candle that dimly lit the room I was locked in burned like the sun, and the rings molded to my wrists felt as if they were ten thousand tons on my little arms. No matter how loudly I screamed out in pain I was paid no attention until what I assumed was mid-morning:

A door would open, letting rush in the fire that would engulf the room and gnaw at my skin. No matter how tightly I shut my eyes all I saw was blinding white, and no matter how I curled away my skin would still become burnt in those few seconds.

Men came in as shadows first, blocking the fire and snickering to one another at what I can only assume was my obvious pain. They’d step inside, and close off the entrance, returning to me the darkness I grew so attached to. Before I’d be able to regain myself there would be hands tugging back at my hair, clawing at my arms to hold me still, then there would be warmth at my mouth.

I didn’t know what the warmth was for a long time, but I’ll get to that in a bit. Before long I learned that if I didn’t bite down on what was in front of me I would be in pain. These men didn’t hit me though, instead they would keep that warm thing at my mouth for awhile and then leave with it. When I bit at what they presented to me and swallowed the iron that poured onto my tongue I would feel for all the time until they came again like I was burning from the inside.

When those men left I would feel bitterly alone in that space, in too much pain to move more than my eyelids. Realize though, dear reader, that I still had to excrete waste from my body, and being unable to move did not stop me from shitting and pissing myself on the floor. The smell of myself curdled my nose and made me wish I were dead; little did I know I was dying and being born at the same time.

Time passed without my telling it to, and the feedings clashed together. Each day was intervals of pain, then sleep, then feeding, then pissing myself, then pain, then sleep, then crapping myself, then pain, then pain, then sleep interrupted by pain, and finally it would all start over with another feeding. With each round of blood the pain subsided, but it would always reawaken when the light hit my skin as they came in.

When the pain finally stopped altogether my young life became a routine of waiting for a burning light to cut at my skin followed by the taste of food in my mouth. My everything was still stained with piss, crap, and dried blood. The closest thing I ever got to a washing was when I would cry out over nothing. I was nothing more than a toddler after all.

My life was vividly boring during this time though, so I’ll skip forwards a few years. The only reason I knew how old I was was because I would receive a visit from a man who would teach me about night and day and masters and slaves and such. He was what you’d call a tutor, a tutor who would teach me the fundamentals of my new role as a trinket that would one day entertain guests. Soon I would be introduced to the house I would live in the cellar of.

(Editors Note: Apparently he was being kept in a shed up until now, and now he’s about to skip right into a history lesson followed by his time actually being, basically, a slave. Sorry he jumped around, I’m trying to stop him from doing that but he’s refusing to write anything about what happened from the tutor showing up to when he was finally transferred to the cellar he was kept  in. Sorry again. )

Now, I want everyone to realize I’m talking about a time when people had well constructed houses and nicely made silk clothes. People did have clothes, and they did wear what they considered shoes. However, not everyone had shoes and things like that. Some people did have jewelry, but it wasn’t quite what you’d think.

As far as clothing went, everyone wore dresses. Of course men would call the dresses robes, but let’s be serious they were fucking dresses. In fact, the clothes were basically nice sacks with sleeves that you draped over yourself. Sometimes the sleeve-sacks were poorly made, and sometimes they were nicely made. To make the clothes seem more form fitting and not so much like sacks with sleeves, a rope of some kind would commonly be tied around the waist to help the sack-clothes stay on.

Don’t get me wrong though, at the time you could look so freaking good with a sack and rope. Especially when that sack was sort of fancy and well crafted. Shoes were a whole different story.

Around this time shoes were nothing more than tanned leather strap that you wrapped around your feet and tied off.  Most of the time everyones shoes would look sort of like a weird sandal-boot child; if that makes sense.

The reason I’ve explained this is so that you can understand how I describe people from this part of my life, including myself. Of course, I can’t see my reflection, so I’m only sort of going to describe what I can to you. The clothes I was given though? Oh, they were some of the best. Sometimes I was even made to wear jewelry for entertainment purposes.  See, I wanted to emphasize these fashion facts because I know that when modern people think of the Dark-Middle Ages they think of people with clothes on their genitals huddling by a pitiful fire in a mud-hut.

On with my early life though, now that you have some understanding of the fact that there was indeed some form of “civilized people” with “civilized” ways.

The first time I saw the outside world was when the men that had fed me for so long slipped my chains off the wall and walked me out themselves. It was night of course, and the moon shone half-full through the trees of the surrounding forest.  My tutor was there, walking beside us as the led me to the manor. At the moment I saw it, it was the most magnificent thing I’d ever seen.

Stones stacked atop each other into a towering wall that had pretty little covered holes, and I door that was more than twice my own size. Of course I was a small lad, but to me, this was the most of the world I’d ever seen with my own eyes. The pathway that led to this massive place was surrounded by flowers and trees, the path itself dirt dug into a curving vine on the floor. I watched in awe as the mighty doors to this small castle were opened from within, and what lay within was more than my tiny mind could comprehend at the time.

A brightly lit hall that went on forever, adorned with rugs hung on the stone and laid out on the floor, and tables holding up shiny trinkets shaped like things I didn’t know… That was all my mind could retain before my arms were jerked forwards by the chains that held me. In that moment I knew not the pains I would suffer, for I was too busy imagining what the rest of this new world I had entered looked like.

I was dragged through this long hall to another great door, and all I could think was of what wonders were behind this new door. When the doors opened, I was greeted by a bunch of new faces turning to me with the same wonder in their eyes that was in mine. All of them gasped and gawked and whispered amongst themselves as I was led to the center of the room. They all looked so large and impressive, with their jewels hanging off their necks and robes finely woven. . .

My chains were put to the floor, arms separated and body exposed. I could see my tutors face in the light for the first time, and I will never forget the expression he gave me as I looked at him with such wonder and amazement at all I was seeing: He was sorry. In that moment I imagine that my expression changed into one of confusion, because his eyes started looking me over with pity.

One of the guards came up behind me and tore open my robes, slapping my bear back with something cold. I bared my teeth instinctually, and the crown went into an uproar of whispers. My skin felt as if though it was melting off the spine, and a voice called out,

“Show us more!” it said.

“Show us something else it does,” screeched out another, more hoarse voice.

“I want to see it’s biters,” a small voice said.

“Can it cry?” asked a sweeter voice behind me.

It wasn’t long before that sweet voice as given it’s answer, for it only took another three strikes to draw tears from my beady little eyes. Blood trickled down my back into the crevasse of my ass, and I wet myself. Right there, in front of all these people I thought were so wondrous and new, I pissed myself. It wasn’t a lot of piss, just enough so that I and the people in the front knew it had happened. That only made the pain worse.

My back was bludgeoned with all sorts of things, I don’t even know if most of them even had names that people nowadays would recognize. Something I remember very clearly though, was a knife. One that was dragged from my shoulder blades to my tailbone; it dug deep enough to catch on the bone a few times.

You’d think they’d stop there, right? That all these people would realize I was a hurt little lad who didn’t know what was happening past all that pain, so they should stop, right? Well I think you have a little too much faith in humanity.

I remember that fucking knife because it was followed by a hand that took hold of my spine and lifted me up by it. Anyone else would be dead, and that’s when the crowd believed that they were given what they were promised. What were they promised you might wonder? What exactly were they there to see? A monster of course. A monster that could survive anything that would kill a real person. They were promised that they would be shown a thing of wonder that couldn’t die no matter what you did to it. . . Anything at all… Boy did they try it all.

Over the years I was brought to that room over and over again. Every time I would be dragged out in chains and fastened to the floor in the center of it, and I would be dragged out a bloody pulp of a thing that no longer looked like much more than an animal killing. Those people were so much worse than animals though. You’d be shocked what people will do when they believe you can never die and they’re told that the fucking heavens are the limit.

You’d also be shocked how gay people actually were back then, or at least how much they liked shoving their dicks in things.

Master was the most common with that sort of thing though; he wasn’t very good at sharing unless it involved an orgy. I would always be washed in a tub of water by servant girls after things like that, and after the really bloody beatings. The best part was that anytime I would try to refuse, get free, or talk back about what was being done to me, I would be starved for three weeks.

When I say starved though, I don’t just mean of blood. They would drag me out of that great hall, weakly kicking and screaming like a banshee, and chain me back up in that shed. No one would come back for two weeks. There would be no tutor to pity me, no men to abuse me, no women to feed their necks to me or give me any other type of food, not even a horse to kick me in the damn head. After those two weeks happened a few times I took the hint, and I stopped kicking and screaming when they did things to me.

Instead, I would just sit there, slowly becoming numb to the things my tutor tried to keep me feeling. The joy I felt at seeing new things was gone after a year. The comfort I felt from physical contact was replaced by dread within three years. The confusion I went into when people would look upon me with expressions I wasn’t used to seeing thrown my way was replaced by anticipation for the pain they saw coming at me.

Once, when I was around seventeen my Master had me walked into that showroom when only he was there. I had been washed before hand for some reason, and I soon found out that it was because he was going to train me to better entertain his guests.

“Guiscard,” he said to me, “Stand on your head.”

“I don’t know how to do that Master,” I was sitting on my hands and knees, staring at the stained stone beneath me.

He took a few steps away, to one of the side tables in the room that would be filled with food when guests were there, and picked something up. I didn’t know what it was until it cracked over my back, already slicing through my tunic and drawing blood from me.

“I told you to stand on your head, not talk.” His voice was always so heavy on my ears, a deep sort of growl that I think came with being an ass with money in his pockets.

For a second I thought on how to do that, and lowered my head onto the floor. With surprising ease I was balancing on the top of my head and keeping myself in place with my hands on the floor at my sides. The whip cut into my back after a moment of my Master pacing around me. I fell to the floor, nearly breaking my neck from twisting in pain.

“I said: On. Your. Head. Not on your hands, do you understand?” His voice bellowed, and I imagine that those in all the rooms I’d never seen could hear his speak to his monster.  

With a curt nod I began to get back onto my head, and the whip cracked again at my back.

“Yes Master,” I called out in pain, blood ticking my stomach as it ran out of my body. Some days back then I thought my blood was the only part of me with the will to run.

There was silence, which meant I was to do as I was told now. God I was so accustomed to being told what to do I didn’t even have to be told. I lifted myself back onto my head, arms slowly pulling my hands from the safety of stone. the blood ran to my head in more ways than one; I could feel the trickles seep between the stands of my hair.

A long while passed, and the blood did not stop rushing down. There wasn’t even a word for gravity and it was already doing such a number on me. My vision started to blot out before my master finally spoke again.

“Good,” Short, bitter, and to the point.

“Back on the floor with you,” I heard the whip set down, and assumed that some poor woman was going to be dragged in with tears in her eyes for me to eat. As instructed, I got back onto my hands and knees, body stained with blood under my clothes and back still pouring it out with every passing moment.

My Master walked in front of me and reached his finger into my mouth, shoved my fangs into his stubby hand-sausages, and yanked up my face so I had to look at him. Without a word I knew what was coming, and after his hand left my mouth and the finely made tunic made its crinkly fabric sounds, there it was.

The reward for good behavior and a proper performance was have a flaccid,unwashed cock shoved down my throat over and over until I my mouth was full of cum. If I didn’t swallow it myself I would have my neck squeezed in such a way that caused me to swallow very painfully, so the cum dribbling down my chin would feel like a stone going down.

Best part was that these practices were weekly, each time learning a new trick, and each time receiving the same reward for performing the trick right. After I would perform all those tricks for a crown, when all the people were gone and I was left there chained to the floor, I would get an even greater reward.

(Editors Note: Please not that what is written after this editors note is extremely graphic and crudely worded.)

Two men would come in, dragging along with them the limp body of a woman with her hands bound behind her back. It was always the same kind of woman: Young, with long hair, decently sized breasts, and a virgin. How did I know they were normally  a virgin? Well see, back then virginity was defined by how much you bled when someone penetrated you.

She’d get set down a few feet away from me, and one of the men would dump some water over her head. The poor girl would wake up in such a frenzy and with so much fear in her shy voice that I would look at her with the same expression my tutor often gave me: Pity. It was the only time that I was the one who could see the pain someone else didn’t know was coming.

At first it was always this weird ritual of holding her down and whispering threatening things into her ear in raspy voices.

“Try to run and we’ll kill you.”

“Scream anymore and I’ll slit your throat”

“If you keep making a fuss we’el go take your protestant mother instead.”

“Shut yer mouth before I fill it.”

“Keep acting like that and we’ll make a witch out of ya”

The threats would really depend on which two idiots were there that night, but those girls would always settle down and have their hand unbound once they did. After all that one of the men would wrap his hand in my hair and pull me onto my back by my head. It was always painful, and I could always feel a few stands pop out when they did. I think they did it by the hair because they felt safer since it was so long… I never really got a chance to ask.

Once I was on my back the other man would pull the chains out of the floor some, and they’d order the girl to drag over one of the shorter tables. Despite what people think, women back then were pretty strong. Tables were made of some solid wood, and I can’t remember a single one of those girls that couldn’t drag the table over for those weak ass men.

I’d get pulled up by my hair now; the table slid beneath me so I was laying on just my back, tailbone rested on the edge and head held up by a hand in my locks. My chains would get tightened back down so I couldn’t move my arms without either being more flexible than I was or dislocating my shoulders. That was when it would get bad for those poor women…

Both men would move away from me, closing in one the girl they brought with rope in hand. She’d be confused, as they all were every single time, and they’d just tell her to stay calm and whatnot.

“What’re you doin’ sir’s…” she’d ask them with a trembling voice.

“Just stay still swee’heart,” one of them would reply, tone smooth and sweet with a hint of sinister beneath the surface.

I stopped looking after the first few times this happened, because I realized that there was nothing I could do to help them and I didn’t want to care anymore. I knew that I was going to be a victim in the grand scheme of what was happening just like they were, the difference was that I would have to go through it again with another poor soul. I could always hear them struggle against ropes being put on their wrists, but they would never win the fight.

After the struggle was over whatever girl it was would get dragged to me and put on my face down, head either on my chest or beside my own head. I’d always keep looking away from them, I just didn’t have the heart to show them how much I pitied them.

It would take some time for them to stop thrashing about on top of me and screaming directly into my ear while the men tied the ropes on her wrists together underneath the table. Somehow I think it was supposed to feel like she was lying on top of my with her arms around me, but it never actually felt like that.

Honestly, I couldn't blame them for all the screaming and thrashing they did when they were tied down to me… Not like any normal person would be alright with having such a thing done without their consent.

“Please…” They’d beg openly, and I would never answer them or look in their direction.

“What’s happening…?” When they started asking questions like that is always when they’d start crying, but it didn’t change the fact that I couldn’t do anything for them or comfort them. Nothing I said would be a comfort. What would I even say?

_I’m sorry._

_Don’t be afraid._

_It’ll be over faster if you just play along._

_Just pretend you’re somewhere else._

_There’s nothing you can do._

_You don’t want the answer._

_No one will ever believe you._

_Nothing you’re saying matters._

_You’ll be dead in a few years anyhow, so just relax._

_They’re going to have sex with you no matter what you say._

_It’ll be more fun for you if you just enjoy it._

_Calm down._

_Breath and don’t think._

_I can’t help you, no one is coming to help you._

Nothing could ever bring me to say the things I thought at this point, because I was already so gone that not having thought was better. I was told when to care. I was told when to eat. I was told when to do tricks. I was told when anything and  everything. I didn’t have to think and I didn’t really want to anymore.

Before long knives would come into play, cutting off her clothes and flicking at her skin a bit. All I could do was flinch at every little twitch. She’d shake and cry as the stripped her, then stripped me right after. They’d be a bit rougher with cutting at me of course, carving lines in my sides to get the tunic off so I bled onto the table. I could hear my blood drip on the floor like I could feel all the girls hearts pound out of their chest.

The worst part was the my body had become accustomed to getting off on my own pain. Even now… Nevermind. I would always get an erection in these situations weather or not I wanted to. The blood would rush to my groin as the knife slid through my skin before those poor women could notice. Those bastard would notice though.

“See you’re already excited to see her cryin’”

“Guess you just can’t wait to see her bleed, can you?”

“You would like getting cut, wouldn’t you, ya stupid sheep,”

“Don’t you just love your reward, you spoilt shit.”

What people would say would very of course, but they would always say the worst things. Even if the things they said weren’t true it still hit me like a ton of bricks every time.

Within the next few comments one of them would get reminded by the other:

“Don’t forget to get his locks down so he don’t nip at ya,” It would always be an informative tone, like whoever said it thought they had a better memory for saying it.

Of course, whomever was on the side where my head hung off the table would pull at my hair until it reached the floor and then step on the end of it. I’d always get to see their shoes when they did them, and so I’d be prepared for just how hard I’d have to swallow.

Whoever was at the other end of the table will have been wrapping a rope around the small of the girls back, circling it like a snake around her and the table with me in the middle. It didn’t really matter how much she struggle or kicked her legs up, it would always end the same way…

If I wasn’t erect by this point my legs would get cut up until I was, all I could do was flinch at every little flick of the blade.

Now this was always the part that got a bit tricky, because everyone was sort of afraid of the basically domesticated vampire. Even though I had stopped struggling after I hit twenty people were still afraid I might get hungry and bite, so they’d opened my mouth up by my bottom teeth and slip their dick into my mouth. It helped if I put my tongue out once they moved their fingers.

Once the dick was in my mouth the girl on top of me would shrivel into sobbing into my shoulder or on my bare chest. Whoever was in my mouth would lean over, making me deep throat them with a little grunt in the process, and take hold of her hips. The other would feel around her cunt for the right hole and line up my cock as she squealed like a pig in slaughter. I imagine there was a signal to shove her down, but I don’t know what it was.

All I do know is that I would suddenly be encased in a tight warmth with blood trickling out from the edges as the women strapped against me cried and moaned in pain. I could smell the blood come from her vagina, faint as it were. All I could do was flinch at every little twitch, ashamed of the groans that were vibrating through a mans dick.

My legs would get hoisted up at some point, and an oiled cock would slowly sodomize me. As soon as it was deeply nestled in my ass the hands of the man I was sucking off would wrap around my neck and start choking. All I could do was flinch at every little twitch.  At some point the foot would lift off of my hair and everyone who didn’t have a dick in their mouth would be openly moaning; even the poor girl I was being forced to rape would moan as she cried after the pain passed.

_No More… No More. ._

Even that series of thing would get morphed into some sick addiction to the unwanted pain masquerading and pleasure.

_No More. . No More. No More No More NoMorenoMorenoMorenoMorenoMore _noMore_ _noMore_ _noMore_ _noMore_ -_

Everything about that room became a living hell, even when it wasn’t supposed to be. Remembering it now even just so I can write it all out… it’s like watching some nightmaric dream sequence that I can’t stop once it’s started up. I was made to rape those girls and get raped myself to a point where I was intoxicated on the ecstasy of it all, and all I could do was flinch at every little twitch…

After things like that the women would get dragged out of the room like undressed dolls, blood and semen streaked down their thighs and tears painted on their sweaty faces. I’d get cleaned up a bit; the blood wiped from my sides and semen cleaned from my thighs. Most of the time I would be kept chained their, waiting for Master Alkaline. He would come in from the rear of the room, fuck my mouth, and then cum in both ends of me.

I’d be cleaned up again, and I’d be dressed. At this point I didn’t need to be led by my chains to follow the guards out to my shed of a room, and one time after a party I wasn’t even led out by guards. That’s right, Guiscard got to walk himself out of the party once he was done giving all of Master Alkaline’s nice guests!

Let’s talk about that night:

**  
**


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